Fans of Scandal, House of Cards, and The Good Wife will love Grace
Colton…

Congresswoman
Grace Colton is the most famous woman in politics—and the loneliest—until a
drawling, sexy stranger offers her one
night, no strings and no regrets.

Grace
wakes to an empty hotel room and a phone call: the dark horse for the 2016
presidential election, Senator Shep Conover, is considering her as his vice
presidential running mate. But first, Grace must be vetted and coached by
Shep’s political consultant, Jared Rankin, who already knows too many intimate
details about her. He’s Mr. One-Night Stand.

Grace
is torn: Play nice with Jared to join the senator’s ticket, or play hardball
and back the slick frontrunner? Grace must decide where her loyalties lie
and if she can trust Jared with her future—and her heart.

The Phoenix Candidate is an
erotic romance set in the world of presidential election politics. Recommended
for mature readers due to sharp dialogue, wickedly hot sex, and a few delicious
taboos. This full-length novel is first in a series and can be read as a
standalone.

Setup: Senator Shep Conover has just asked Congresswoman
Grace Colton to consider being his vice presidential running mate in the 2016
presidential election. But before he’ll choose her, she must be vetted and
coached by his political consultant, Jared Rankin—the stranger she thought was
a one-night stand.

I hold the wingback chair for support and paste a smile
on my face as I watch the senator leave the suite. That leaves me and Jared and
a hell of a lot of silence.

He picks up several thick manila
files from a side table, perhaps the same ones I saw in his hotel room last
night, and sits in the chair opposite me. His expression is unreadable.

I remain standing. Fight or flight.
That’s what I’m deciding as I lament there’s nothing in view that I could
bludgeon Jared with.

“Ms. Colton. Please, have a seat.”
He gestures to the chair I’m supposed to occupy.

“No.” I sound like a petulant child.

“Grace—”

“No! What the hell was that, Jared?
What the fucking hell?” I bend to get in his face to really shout him
into submission, but he grabs my wrist.

I struggle but can’t break from his
grasp. His deep brown eyes are smoldering with intensity, and I shoot as much
hatred as I can from my eyes.

I’m embarrassed. Mortified. This man
who has seen me naked, who made me scream his name less than twelve
hours ago, is now Ms. Colton-ing me like I’m his kid’s schoolteacher.

That sends a shockwave to my gut. I
know nothing about this man: not whether he’s married, or has a kid, or exactly
what his business is here.

Sensing that the fight’s left me,
Jared drops my wrist and slowly stands.

I hold my ground, standing toe to
toe with him. His hair is combed neatly, but I remember the way my grasping
fingers teased it into wild waves last night. His stubbled jaw remains.

I fold my arms across my chest
because my gray pantsuit and silk top aren’t doing the trick. My heels don’t
boost me to an even height with Jared.

His thumb brushes my lower lip and I
gasp and take a step back.

“Pouting doesn’t suit you. Tuck that
lip back in.”

“Don’t touch. I bite,” I snarl,
angry that he’s mixed the familiarity from last night with the utter
seriousness of this political opportunity.

“So do I,” Jared says, taking
another step toward me and forcing me to step back. “But you like it.”

“You’re a bastard.” I’m even angrier
he’s getting to me. I grab his shirt, ready to push him back, but he captures
my wrists and slams them against the wall above my head.

“I hear that a lot.” Jared’s body
molds against me. I feel his erection hardening as he presses his hips into
mine, and my traitorous body responds in turn, too eager to tip my hips at just
the right angle.

I can’t get the word bastard
through my lips again when every cell in my body is screaming Encore!
Encore!

“How could you?” I hiss.

“It’s what you wanted. No stories.
No strings.”

“But I’ve got a hell of a lot of
regret.” I move to turn away from him, but Jared lowers his mouth toward mine.
His lips land on my jaw and skim down my neck, his tongue explores the hollow
of my throat then glides back up my neck to taste the soft skin behind my
earlobe. I whimper and twist, but he just anchors me harder, both body and
wrists.

“You knew,” I hiss, trying to get my
brain to focus on why I’m here, not the hardening length in his pants
that has me rubbing against him like a freaking cat in heat. “You knew who I
was and you let me … you let me humiliate myself.”

I stifle a cry as his teeth come
out, sinking into the flesh at the base of my neck. It stings, and the twinge
heightens my need to retaliate, to touch him in all the ways he’s touching me.
To drive us to release.

His knee presses between mine and my
legs part, my body in full meltdown.

“You didn’t humiliate yourself. You
just let go. Got out of your head for One. Fucking. Minute.” With each word his
hips rock against mine until my core is aching to be filled again.

My God, is he really going to make
me come? With every stitch of clothing on? I struggle against his hold on me. “You knew who I am.
You knew we could be working together!”

“I didn’t go to the club expecting
to pick you up, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His lips are inches from mine
and his eyes narrow. The force in his expression nearly my undoing.

“Bullshit. You were all about
picking me up.”

“And do you regret it?” Jared’s
voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper.

No! “Yes.”

He drops my hands. Spins and strides
to the opposite side of the room.

I go cold. And fucking frustrated.
He wound up my body so tight that I’m vibrating with tension, needing just a
little more to take me over the edge.

He gathers the folders and slides
them inside a leather attaché case as if we’ve been sipping coffee for the last
five minutes rather than slammed up against a wall. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Your place.”

I
almost snap, imagining the relief he could offer to my wound-up state. But his
face says all business. He looks at his watch. “We’ve got a long list on our
agenda today. Your place is good enough to start.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Heidi Joy is a sucker for campfires, craft cocktails, and steamy romance in books and real life. She sings along with musicals (badly), craves French carbs, and buys plane tickets the way some women buy shoes.
Her first career as a journalist took Heidi behind the scenes with politicians, rock stars, chefs, and detectives, all of whom inspire her stories. Heidi Joy is currently working on her eighth book from her home in Portland, Oregon. She adores hearing from readers at author.heidi@gmail.com.

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About Me

I live in beautiful Durban, South Africa. My love for writing started in the 5th grade but I've only now had the time and patience to complete my first novel. I wish to continue for many years, even when I have retired to a tiny lake-side cottage in the mountains somewhere :)